A Beautiful Duel
by Burnt Sierra
Summary: A TES short story about an honourable duel. Is everything as it seems?


I watch the bottle skid across the floor as if in slow motion. It passes table legs, passes the feet of men and women ensconced in leather boots and starts spinning as it travels through a puddle of spilt beer. The Eight Plates tavern in Balmora is extremely busy tonight because of the band they have appearing, which features three lute players and two guarskin drummers who have made themselves quite a reputation. Just ahead of the approaching bottle, a tall Dunmer dressed in elegant clothes is returning to his table from the bar. In his hands are two glasses of wine, filled to the point of overflowing. His eyes are looking forwards; smiling at his companion as his right hand extends to offer them the wine. The scene seems to pause as his foot briefly catches the slippery topside of the bottle and sends him off balance. Wine sloshes out of his glass as he topples backwards, arches like a deep red rainbow through the air and lands unceremoniously on the man sitting to the right. Then I cannot see anything as a crowd gathers in front of me, drawn to the angry shouts like Nords to a Mead Hall.

I quickly rise and push my way through the bystanders until I can see again. The two men are standing, angrily pointing fingers at one another. The other man is a Dunmer as well, and just as elegantly dressed, save for the red stain spreading on his shirt. Both of them are well-known, high-ranking members of the Great Houses Hlaalu and Redoran respectively. They are getting increasingly angry, fingers no longer just pointing but prodding the other's chest with mounting force. Each of the two men has brought several guests with them and they are beginning to involve themselves in the altercation. I hear a scraping sound then see a flash of silver as a sword is drawn. The crowd around me falls silent in anticipation.

"Gentlemen, please!" I say loudly, stepping forward out of the crowd.

"Stay out of this old man, this doesn't concern you."

I turn to him, and open my arms. "I thought you were a nobleman of House Redoran!"

"I am."

"And you," I say, turning to the other man, "are you not a nobleman of the House Hlaalu?"

"I most certainly am, and I plan to reclaim my honour by slaying this," he turns once more to the object of his annoyance and spits the words out, "clumsy son of a guar."

"Who the hell are you calling a son of a guar?"

The two start shouting once more, their shoulders back, their chests pushed forward as they try to make themselves look more intimidating.

"Gentlemen! This is a tavern, what honour are you going to find by getting into a brawl here?" I push myself between them. "This is not how a gentleman settles his differences."

"What do you suggest then?"

"An honourable duel. Held not," I gesture around me, "in a bar, but outside. At least have some dignity."

For the first time, the two noblemen seem to notice the crowd watching them intently. Both nod slowly.

"Fine," says the Redoran. "As a nobleman of The Great House Redoran, I challenge you to an honourable duel. Assuming you have the honour and the guts to face me in a fair fight that is."

"Oh, I have, but it's your guts everyone will see as they pour out of your dead body."

"Even in your dreams you couldn't accomplish that."

"Gentlemen," I say, before they can start shouting again, "we are proceeding with honour, are we not?"

"Yes," They say simultaneously.

"Then may I make a suggestion?" I look at both of them in turn. "Both fighters should remove any enchanted items, or expensive armour. Whoever turns out to be the victor should not have to live with accusations that the only reason they won was because of the weapons or armour they used. This should be even, a test of pure skill. That is the honourable way."

"I need no armour at all, not for this opponent," replies the Redoran nobleman contemptuously.

"Secondly, may I suggest myself as a valet to you both."

"You?"

"Is this a joke?"

"Think gentlemen," I reply, tapping the side of my head. "If either of you use your own men, you leave yourself wide open to allegations of cheating. A weapon being switched, your opponents blade tampered with, there is no limits to what could be claimed after the event. That would be a great source of embarrassment to the victor's House."

"I accept your offer old man," says the Redoran gravely.

"As do I," replies the Hlaalu. "Now let's get this started, my blade grows thirsty for revenge."

There is quite a procession out of the town. People are calling to friends and neighbours and the numbers keep increasing. We reach a grassy area that looks suitable, and I turn to the combatants. In my hands are the two men's swords and using a cloth from my back pocket I polish them until the silver gleams. With an air of ceremony, I hand each of them their weapons. Dusk is falling, the light from the sky dimming with each passing minute, and several of the audience are lighting torches.

"Gentlemen. Are you ready?" I ask.

"Ready."

"Ready."

"Then on my command, each of you step forward five paces, turn, and let battle commence."

Each man nods resolutely. I glance at the onlookers and call out, "Begin!"

The Redoran nobleman is being the more aggressive warrior, relentlessly attacking his opponent. The Hlaalu is starting to look slightly nervous at the ferocity, and tries to create more space between them. As the Redoran closes the gap, swinging his sword in a fast arc, the Hlaalu ducks under the blade, and slams his knee into his opponent's groin as he passes. The crowd groan with displeasure at the cheap trick. The Redoran collapses to his knees, grimacing in pain, but rolls out of the way before the Hlaalu can capitalise. He gets back to his feet and glares at his opponent. They ready their swords again. Both attack straight to the front and their weapons clash together. Each rapidly withdraws and initiates another attack. The Redoran moves swiftly to the side, his sword raised above him, and slashes it down towards the neck of his foe. The Hlaalu is already pirouetting to his right, his sword swinging in a backhand stroke. The two blades narrowly miss each other, and both draw blood. The noise from the crowd raises in excitement, then subsides. The blades have only grazed each other's arms. My eyes close in a grimace. I hear the gasps but I do not bother to look. There is no need to; I can picture what is happening. Both men have collapsed to the floor, staring around themselves in bewilderment. Blood is coming out of their mouths, dripping to the ground, as they start to cough. I open my eyes and walk away hoping to avoid attention.

"Poison! It must be!"

"Him! The old man! He was the only one who had access to their blades."

The guard's footsteps are running towards me. I stop, turn around, and pull out two rolls of parchment from my pocket.

"This is the honourable writ of execution for Ondaves Valas of the Great House Hlaalu." I say loudly and clearly, so everyone can hear. "And this is the honourable writ of execution for Dalamus Rindo of the Great House Redoran." The nearest guard takes the writs and looks at them closely. With a grudging nod, or so it seems to me, he hands them back.

"These are in order. You're free to go."

I nod back in return. There does not seem any need for my disguise any longer, so I straighten up to my full height, and pull the grey wig off my head. The ageing makeup will have to wait until I can get water to remove it. From the crowd I hear a voice asking, "Who is that?"

I look at the crowd, favour them with what I consider a suitably charming smile, and bow with a flourish.

"Eno Hlaalu, at your service."

Still smiling I turn away, and start the walk back to the town. I need to return to Vivec and report my success to the Grandmaster. It is my twenty-second birthday tomorrow and I feel very pleased with myself. My first job for the Morag Tong is complete, the first of many I hope, although I suspect I may receive a lecture about not taking it seriously enough. How will I explain the beauty of watching the bottle I kicked roll across the tavern floor? I cannot help but think that I have a talent for this. Who knows where this will lead me?


End file.
